Gathering Pieces
by stapledspider
Summary: Finding Castiel. Follows the events of 5.18. Dean/Cas
1. Chapter 1

**Gathering Pieces**

**Prelude**

Kali disappeared after watching Gabriel's Casa Erotica edit. The orange flames travelled up her arms, to her head, and down before they turned a brilliant, blinding white, and she was gone. Sam could have sworn he'd seen tears in her eyes while they were watching the video, but he can't be sure. He was barely holding back tears of his own, and if Dean noticed he didn't say anything.

"What a dick. Not even a thank you. Guess maybe they really did have a fling, eh, Sammy?" The lightness of his question betrayed the severity of Gabriel's message to them.

"I dunno, Dean. Maybe," he replied, and quickly turned away from his brother. Sam can't tell if he's crying because he's happy that they now have a way to kill Lucifer, or if he's miserable because killing Lucifer seems just as impossible now as it did before they listened to Gabriel's message.

They were quiet for a few minutes. Each contemplating the archangel's sacrifice and his message—Dean facing the road, one hand grasping at his hair as the other clutched the car keys tight; Sam with one hand on the close laptop, bent over with his head on the hood of the car and his face buried in his elbow.

A school bus drove by and some third grade punk kid tossed an uneaten apple out of the window at the Impala. The thunk breaks them from their thoughts.

"Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck! Damn it fucking all!" Dust and gravel went flying as Dean took out his frustration on ground and the apple bursts into pieces on the asphalt. He leaned back against the Impala. "Christ Sam! What are we supposed to do now?"

Sam lifted his head slowly, taking care to drag his face on his sleeve as he goes. Dean may not have commented on the tears initially, but there's no need to risk the criticism. Not now.

"We keep going, Dean. We keep going and we find Cas and Adam. And, and we," Sam can't help but think about how nuts Gabriel's idea is_,_ "find the Antichrist. Like he said."

Dean laughs—it's hollow and a little hysterical.

"Seriously Sammy? Find the Antichrist?" The rage and hysterics melt from Dean's voice and all Sam hears is helplessness and hopelessness and so much fucking loss. "The only chance we have now that Gabriel is gone," Sam winced, "is to find the Antichrist. That's it."

"What else are we going to do? You heard him! Fuck, Dean! He just died to keep us safe—to give us a chance. Hell," Dean cringed and Sam almost stops his diatribe at that, "he gave us more than a chance. He's given us the only good lead we have on ganking that son of a bitch! Look, Cas said that Jesse had the power to destroy Heaven, didn't he? I mean, fuck, he was so scared of what that kid could do that he was willing to kill him—and he couldn't even do it. Jesse stopped him. He turned an Angel of the freaking Lord into a plastic toy! I mean come on, Dean." Sam was losing steam, "That kind of power really might defeat Lucifer. Gabriel said without him the Antichrist is the only other person with enough power to help us defeat him."

"Damn it Sammy, I know. Christ. I know what Gabe said, but how're we going to find him, huh? That kid just wants to be left alone and he's powerful enough to stop us from ever finding him."

"There must be some way of finding him. Maybe Bobby knows something."

"Yeah. Maybe. Look, let's just get in the car and find some place to camp out. You call Bobby and see if he'll work on this for us, too." They've been relying on Bobby to find out so much for them, but none of it is panning out. The Apocalypse will be over before they find all of the people they're looking for to help fight it.

They take off, anxious to put some distance between them and The Elysian Fields Hotel. The weight of the apocalypse is heavier now than it has ever been before, and they're still so far from winning. But at least they have a clue—a direction to move in, even if they can't figure out which way that direction is.

Sam gets off the phone with Bobby, and before Dean can move to put in any music, he opens his laptop and plays Gabriel's message again:

"Sam. Dean. You're probably wondering what the hell is going on. Well, if you're watching this I'm dead. Oh please stop sobbing. It's embarrassing for all of us. Without me you've got one shot left at killing Lucifer. That's right. You've still got a chance! All your Christmases have arrived at once—not that you've had any particularly good Christmases—but that's beside the point. You'll need some mighty powerful help to kill Lucifer. Since I'm out of the picture now, and since you're not going be giving Michael a ride any time soon, you, my friends, need to find yourselves an Antichrist. All that power packed in a human body—and they might even be willing to work with you. Find an Antichrist and you guys might actually stand a chance. Can't say I'm betting on you boys, but ah, I've been wrong before. And Dean, you were right. I was afraid to stand up to my brother, but not anymore. So this is me standing up, and this is me lying down."

* * *

><p><em>Note: Gabriel's message was borrowed, for the most part, from 5.19, Hammer of the Gods.<em>


	2. Chapter 2

**Gathering Pieces**

**Chapter 1**

It's been two weeks and they have no leads—not on Castiel, not on Adam, and most definitely not on Jesse. Sam has watched Gabriel's message every day searching for some clue that might point them in the right direction, but there is none. He may bring himself to actually watch the whole thing. Who knows what Gabriel might have hidden deeper in the film? One last joke on the Winchesters, may they have prudish sensibilities. They're in some cheap No-Tell Motel outside of Tulsa, OK. Dean is in the shower and Sam's finger is hovering over the STOP button as Gabriel is "lying down" when Bobby calls.

"Hey Bobby. What's up?" Sam picks up.

"I just got off the phone with an old friend of yours. A psychic out in Lawrence."

"Missouri, yeah. We know her." The bathroom door opened and Dean walked out of the steam in a pair of worn jeans, toweling his head. Sam mouths _Bobby_ at him in response to his questioning look. "She, ah, she knew dad. What did she want?"

"She kept going on about some being that's made outta light that keeps contacting her in her dreams. She said it was calling for Dean. Sounds like she might have a line to Dean's angel."

"Really? That's great Bobby! Thanks, I'll let Dean know. We'll head out there tonight."

"Don't do anything stupid."

"Yeah, alright Bobby. Thanks."

Sam shoves his phone in his pocket and starts packing as he tells Dean the news. They double-time it out of the motel and into the Impala. Dean must have been very distracted or in a fantastic mood because he let Sam pick the music (from Dean's collection). Sam is betting on the former.

As Dean parks on the street outside of Missouri's house the sweet smell of homemade, flaky crust and hot, juicy blueberry filling filters out from Missouri's open windows and into their noses. Deans mouth starts watering.

Sam rolls his eyes at Dean's pie-moaning as they walk up to the door. The pie does smell heavenly (better than heavenly, if the scents he remembers from heaven are anything to compare to), but Sam likes to show a little restraint when it comes to food. Dean makes fun of him for his rabbit food, but Sam's got the metabolism of a sloth. He can't afford to shovel burgers, fries and pie into his stomach like Dean does—and could Sam be more of a girl?

Missouri looks troubled when she opens the door. There are bags under her eyes and she looks underfed, but she still manages to shush Dean before he can get past hello and sits them both down to feed them the pie that is even more delicious than it smelled before they start business. She puts two scoops of vanilla ice cream on Dean's pie and one on Sam's before he can protest.

"A little ice cream with your pie is good for the soul Sam, and it certainly isn't gonna make you fat, so stop fussing. You need something more than lettuce and grilled chicken, boy." He'd forgotten how easily she knew what they were thinking. Dean laughs.

Sam sighs. The pie is ridiculously good, and if nothing else it seems to be easing Dean's worry a little bit. He sighs again. Trust Missouri to know just what to do to calm Dean's mind for a little bit. They barely know her, but she just _knows _them so well. It's really kind of creepy if he thinks about it.

_Bang_!

Missouri raises a mildly irritated eyebrow at him as she sets a heavy glass of milk in front of him and slides another one to Dean before sitting down with her own, smaller slice of pie with no ice cream. Sam looks pointedly at her measly pie portion before looking at her, and she smiles at his accusations of hypocrisy. Her eyes remain dull, though, and Sam quickly returns to his pie as he remembers why they are there. Missouri's fingers curl lightly around his arm in apology.

Dean eats his pie slowly, surreptitiously observing Missouri and Sam as he does so. He times it so that he finishes last, just after Missouri. He takes a deep breath as he pushes his plate away, but Missouri hushes him before he has a chance to say anything.

"Now Dean, I know you're anxious to get down to business, but I'd like for us to get comfortable first. Why don't you and Sam go sit in the living room, while I make us some coffee and clean up."

It's not a request, or a suggestion, so, shut down in his second attempt, Dean moves to the living room as instructed. Sam follows shortly after, having been shooed away from the sink by Missouri.

"She seems really worried." Sam says.

"No shit, Sam" Dean replies, "Whatever it is, let's hope Cas isn't in too big a bind. I'm" _worried_, his mind supplies, "starting to he doesn't want us to find him." Dean laughs, hollowly, "I fucked up big time with him Sam. I…he, he gave up so much and I let him down."

"Dean…" Sam doesn't really know what to say. Dean was right. He let Castiel down—he almost let Sam down, and hadn't that just been the most horrifying moment of Sam's life. Realizing that Dean remembered everything that was done to him in Hell and finding out that Dean himself had tortured and raped and enjoyed his last decade in Hell, while it surprised and horrified him, could not compare. Not even finding Dean's ravaged body, shredded and with chunks of flesh missing from where the hellhounds just couldn't help but swallow some of the fresh meat—the moment that had, until a few weeks ago, been the most awful of his existence—compared to the moment that Dean said yes to Michael. To that moment where Sam saw his brother finally, _finally_ break under the weight of heaven's power and his own guilt and sense of responsibility. Dean had given up for the first time in his life, and Sam had thought he'd lost his brother forever. In that moment Sam had wanted to die.

"Don't Sammy. Just don't." Dean looked so lost, and Sam had to restrain himself from reaching out and filling Dean's silence with some kind of reassurance. His brother was rarely so open with his emotions, and Sam knew that if he tried to say anything to assuage his brother's guilt Dean would somehow manage to turn it into something else he could blame himself for. The Winchester capacity for guilt was astounding.

They were both so caught up in their misery that they didn't notice Missouri until she set a mug of coffee in front of each of them.

"Black for you, Sam, and three sugars for you, Dean. Now don't go glaring at me, boy. I know you've got a sweet tooth as bad as any ten year old and bitter sends you running. It's a wonder that you like beer so much."

Dean looks sheepish and Sam laughs. It's nice for someone else to tease Dean every once in a while, and it makes up for the salad comment earlier.

"When I called Mr. Singer he wasn't sure where you two were, so I didn't realize you both were so close until I felt you cross the Lawrence city limits. You're lucky I was already making pie." She's stalling. They all know it, and the tension in the room ratchets up a few more notches as the brothers grow more impatient to hear news of what she's seen. "You'd think one of you could have called me and told me the apocalypse was on!" She gives them both very hard looks. Looks that scold and forgive, but are hardly joking. In truth they've barely thought about her since their first meeting with her. She's a friend, certainly, but she had never really involved herself in their world, so they never had a reason to come back. "You could have at least told me you were back from the dead." Dean is reminded of Ellen's harsh greeting following his resurrection. Missouri had known the moment that Dean died, she had felt Sam's grief, the overwhelming hunger of the hellhounds, and Lilith's joy from hundreds of miles away. Sam, of course, in his rage and wrathful grief hadn't returned her calls—had changed his number to avoid any calls. Shamefaced, Sam moves to apologize, but the weary smile she gives him lets him know he is forgiven.

"Missouri…" "Dean…" They both try to speak at the same time.

"Missouri," Sam interrupts, "Bobby said you might have some information that could be of use to us?"

"I do." Missouri begins again, "I only hope I'm not too late getting it to you. I've been…I'm sure Mr. Singer told I've been receiving glimpses in my dreams of a, well I didn't really know what it was, but I'm guessing it an angel from what Mr. Singer was telling me and what you both have been thinking. It just kept popping up in my dreams, screaming in some strange language. I've hardly been able to sleep, the pain that poor creature is in has sent me treading a hole in my bedroom floor every night for weeks. I just, I didn't know what it was, or what to do, and it never said anything I could understand, until two nights ago. It was crying for you Dean." Dean's eyes widened in surprise that quickly flashes to guilt when he hears Missouri's next words. "Crying as though you were dead. As soon as I heard your name I called up every single hunter and psychic on this side of the Atlantic until I found someone that could find you." She let out a puff of breath, "And thank the Lord I finally got to you. I haven't heard from it again since I heard it cry your name Dean, and it has me awfully worried. Something that beautiful shouldn't be in so much agony. It just isn't right."

The brother's look worriedly at each other. They had both been hoping that Cas had made it out of the warehouse relatively unscathed, that maybe he'd overdone it and was sleeping off his exhaustion in some church steeple somewhere. But if they were right, and Missouri had been contacted by Cas, it sounded like he was in trouble. "You're sure it was calling for me?"

"I've never heard anything clearer, Dean, but tell me more about your angel so we can be more sure. I want to be absolutely certain this is what you're looking for before I send you off after it."

"What do you mean?" Sam asked. "What else did you see Missouri? Did you see what was hurting him? Do you know where he is?"

Missouri met Sam's eyes with a serious look. "Sam, if what I saw is y'alls angel then he is in quite a lot of trouble. So I'm not sending you into it until we know for sure that it is your Cas. So tell me a little more about him."

"Like what, Missouri?" Dean asks, "He's an Angel of the Lord. We've never seen what he really looks like. He has to walk around inside of a Vessel named Jimmy."

"That would explain the other presence with him then. Jimmy doesn't happen to like hamburger, does he? Because I've never felt a person so hungry for one before." Her eyes gloss over a little as her thoughts drift off, "Mm mmn…and medium rare, too. I always go well done with hamburger. You never know what could be in it. There was one time…"

"Missouri," Sam reached out and covered her hand with his.

"I'm sorry boys."

Both brothers think she must be so exhausted for her thought do derail so easily.

With one hand over still over her heart, where it flew at Sam's call, and the other still trapped under Sam's hand she continued.

"As I was saying, there is another, very small presence with this being, and it sure does love hamburger. Tell me more about him. Does Cas like certain foods, places,"

"He likes parks," Dean chimes in, "He told me once that he likes parks. They give him a chance to watch 'his Father's creations.'"

"He likes Dean." Dean's eyes widen and Missouri raises an eyebrow.

"What? Did he tell you that?" Dean exclaims, and Sam thinks he can see Dean's ears turning a little pink—Dean always banked on the fact that he was good enough to hide what he was thinking and feeling from everyone, but he always failed to remember that Sam was his brother, and as his brother he had insights into Dean's mind that the rest of the world didn't, so of course Sam knew about Dean's little crush on Castiel. It was plain as day to him. Still, Sam glances at Missouri to see if she knows what he knows. The look she gives him tells him she knows what he's thinking, she knows what Dean's thinking, and that Sam is right about the source Dean's embarrassment.

"How do you mean?" Missouri asks.

Sam flounders a bit—he'd gotten a little caught up in being smug at catching Dean off his guard. "Huh?"

"How does he like Dean?"

"Oh, um, well…We were talking one night," he looked up nervously at his brother to see his reaction to his words. Dean has always been a bit…territorial when it came to the Angel. At first he thought the glares he aimed at Sam when he was talking to Cas, and the sullen looks Dean gave the back of Cas's head whenever the Angel was occupied with something other than Dean were just a result of some connection they made when Cas pulled Dean from Hell. But as time went on, and Dean treated Cas more like a human (and less like an Angel) Sam doubted that Cas's angel-ness was all that kept Dean's attention. There just had to be something more for Dean to glare daggers at his brother for suggesting that Cas might possibly enjoy wearing a polo instead of a tie and jacket. "Dean was out at some bar hustling pool, and I was doing, uh…research on my computer."

Dean snorts, "Right. _Research_. So that's what their calling it these days. I don't see why you get mad at me for looking up Busty Asi,"

"Dean!" Sam cut him off. It was bad enough that he'd actually told that part of the story. He didn't need Dean bringing up details of his X-rated searching in front of Missouri, dammit!

A soft cough issued from Missouri, and Sam quickly—embarrassedly—remembered that Missouri knew what he was thinking.

"Ah…eh, anyways, I was doing research when Cas popped in…"

_"Unh. Oh Oh yeah baby. Harder…ooo…" Sam's eyes were glued to the screen—his hand glued elsewhere—as he watched 'Daemon', the lean-muscled, tan all over, brunette 'devil' flip 'Angel'—a Norweigan beauty with tits that looked like they were shaped by the best plastic surgeon money could buy, but bounced like they grew on their own—over grab her 'wings' and use them to pull her back onto him. Sam ignored the soft rustle of wings in the background._

_"Hello Sam."_

_"Shit! Cas!" Sam slams the laptop shut, cutting off Daemon's finish, and pulls the computer into his lap._

_"I can wait until you are finished if you would like."_

_"Ah, no. No, Cas, that's…could you gimme a sec to…to, ah, com-compose myself."_

_"Of course, Sam"_

_Sam quickly ran into the bathroom, laptop still held in front. Very few things could kill the mood the way an Angel of the Lord appearing in the middle of quality "me" time could. Sam felt for sure that Castiel was going to quote something from Leviticus or Deuteronomy as he walked back out into the main room. That one rule about guys not masturbating—wasting seed and what not. Getting caught by Cas was so much more embarrassing than having Dean walk in._

_"So, ah, Dean's out playing pool." Sam said, as he walked out of the bathroom. "I can call him and see what bar he's at if you want to talk to him."_

_"That will not be necessary Sam. I came to speak with you."_

_"Oh, uh, okay. What'd you wanna talk about?"_

_"My vessel, Jimmy, has recently been experiencing strange phenomena."_

_"Okay. Like what?"_

_"A kind of lightness in my abdomen. The feeling is akin to having an insect crawl on you, only the feeling is centered on stomach. I also experience mild lightheadedness and sudden flashes of heat, especially in my ears, neck and cheeks. I am entirely unsure of what to make of these phenomena. It only occurs around your brother. I fear something may have been done to him or to myself to deter me from his company, but it has only resulted in elevating my discomfort around him. Have you observed anything out of the ordinary about Dean recently? Or, perhaps, has something been done to Dean?"_

_Sam swallowed a laugh as he looked at the serious and utterly confused expression on Castiel's face. "Uh no. Cas I don't think anything's been done to you or to Dean. You say this only happens when you're around Dean, right? Blushing, butterflies in your stomach…"_

_"There are no butterflies in my stomach, or anywhere else on or in my person."_

_"It's an expression, Cas. We use it to describe that crawling feeling you were telling me about. In fact, when I first met Jess,"_

_ "Your deceased significant other."_

_"Ah, yes."_ _Sam winced. _Cas really needs to learn a little tact. _Sam thought, "When I first met Jess I felt a lot like what you're describing. In fact, when she walked up and asked me out she said, 'Don't try and play cool with me mister. Those bright red lanterns you call cheeks would have caught my eye if I was in the next state. How about you let me take you out for a drink and give me a chance to find out just how red you can turn?'"_

_"I see. So you are saying that this vessel is attracted to Dean?"_

_"No Cas. What I'm saying is that you are attracted to Dean, and Jimmy's body is reacting according to your feelings."_

_"I see. Thank you Sam. This information has been very helpful."_

"And then he flew outta there. So, uh, yeah. He likes Dean. Like _likes_. You know?"

Missouri nodded, and as grade-school as the description of Cas's feeling was (_like _likes_? Really Sammy?) _it was accurate.

"That was the impression I got from the angel. Well, not so much that he loved Dean, but more that he was grieving for someone he loved very much. Are you alright Dean-honey?"

Dean face had turned an alarming sickly pale hue as he listened to Sam and Missouri discuss Cas. _Oh god. Cas. I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I can't believe I did this to you._

"Dean!" he jumped at the sound of Missouri's voice, "Snap out of it boy! Now I don't know why you're apologizing or what you did to make you think that what's happening to your angel is somehow your fault, but you need to pull yourself together if you're gonna have even the slightest chance of getting him back. So man up Winchester and save your apologies for when you get him back!"

Color slowly flooded back to Dean's face as he stared, wide-eyed at the woman next to him. What the hell was he doing moping around? _I need to get Cas back and fix this._ "So we know it's Cas. Where is he?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Gathering Pieces  
><strong>

**Chapter 2**

"Dean, we have to stop for a couple of hours."

"No Sammy."

"Dean, we need sleep. Decent sleep. In beds for at least four hours."

"We are not stopping Sammy."

"Look man, I know your anxious to get to Cas. I am too, but we can't just barge in there like this. We'll get ourselves and Cas killed!"

"Fuck that Sammy! It's been a month since we were in Pennsylvania looking for him. A month since we drove into a field of rotting grapes because that was the last place Missouri felt him in, and since then we've been following a trail of failing crops up and down the east coast and I'll be damned again before I let that snotty bastard get away another time. I won't let him keep him, Sam. He's had Cas for months, and I won't let it go on any more."

Dean is determined to find Cas, Sam is, too, but Pestilence has been changing locations every few days, five days at the longest, and they've barely stopped for more than drive-thru burgers and gas since they left Missouri's place as they try to catch up to him. Sam is so stiff from sleeping in the car that he's not sure he could fight off a 92 year old grandma, and he knows Dean is worse off because Dean's done most of the driving. Still, as Sam watches Dean's hands tighten on the wheel of the Impala, he realizes he's rarely ever seen Dean like this; and he knows Dean won't stop. Nothing on earth, in heaven, or in hell could stop the stubbornness and determination that have become the only things Dean seems to feel aside from anger. So Sam slouches in the passenger seat and pillows his head on the T-shirt he finally changed out of after three days of wear, because they haven't stopped to do laundry either.

"Wake me up when we cross the Georgia line so I can drive." They're halfway through South Carolina, so that'll give Dean a couple more hours exhaust himself, and time for a decent amount of sleep. They're headed to central Florida. Oranges began rotting off the trees by the acre yesterday. _Thank God for the Department of Citrus. Wouldn't have found out about this until tomorrow without them._

* * *

><p>The smell of rot and mildew slowly dragged Dean from sleep. "Ugh, Jesus Sammy what the hell did you eat, man, whew."<p>

"Haha Dean. We're near the town where everything started. I'm surprised you didn't wake up sooner. There've been rotting oranges falling of trees since we got off the highway ten miles back. I think the smell has soaked into my hair."

"We'll just have to shave your head then Sammy." Dean threw a smirk at his brother as he straightened up in his seat and began twisting around to crack his back.

_Pop!_

Dean let out a grunt of satisfaction as some of the tension in his lower back let go. Resettling in his seat Dean surveyed the area they were driving through: old road—faded asphalt, shallow potholes, and a few cracks, but otherwise in good condition and the lines were recently repainted—, sandy dirt on the shoulders with tufts of grass growing randomly, cypress and pine growing abundantly on one side of the road and thinning out as they drove closer to town, and neat rows of orange trees on their side of the road stretching into the distance. The cypress, pine and grass stood out healthy and strong, and their leaves were a vibrant barrage of greens; but the acres of orange trees seemed withered and old. Leaves that should have added their own greens to the display from across the street created a blanket of browns around the base of every tree and in the aisles in between, branches that reached out strong and tall a day or two before were now bent limply toward the ground, the gnarled knobs and tree bark resembling the wrinkled skin of an elderly gentleman leaning carefully on his cane, and finally, instead of bright orange globes of fruit, all Dean saw on those trees were peels covered in white and gray mildew and pulp crawling with maggots. As they arrived at a STOP sign Dean saw an orange drop out of a nearby tree and explode into a soggy mess of flies and maggots.

"We're five miles away from town. I say we find a motel to park at, and then figure out where exactly this all started. Sound like a plan, Dean?"

"Yeah Sammy. Sounds good."

* * *

><p>Turning off the state road and onto Main Street, the town didn't look particularly threatening. It appeared to be a typical American small town—Post office on the left, deli on the corner, butcher across from that, they'd passed a WinnDixie just as they got into town, all of the side streets were crowded with small cookie cutter houses that had probably been there since the fifties. Problem was, there didn't appear to be any people in the town. A few cars were parked at the houses and on the streets, but no people.<p>

"Isn't this Florida? Shouldn't there be chicks in tiny clothes running around or something?" Dean joked.

_He always tells such lame jokes when things are about to go to shit. _Sam thought. But he knew, at least, that he wasn't the only one thinking things were a little strange.

"Heh…you ever see that many pink flamingos in a person's yard before Sammy?"

The yard in questions was sporting a flock of Tickle-Me-Pink flamingos surrounding a small gnome family. _The gnomes don't stand a chance._

Sam let out a short mumble of acknowledgement as he continued searching for a place they could stop.

"Dean, have you seen anyone walking around? This town seems pretty empty."

"I saw a couple cars back there, but not any people. Just keep your eyes open. Dean gestured to a sign ahead, "Bed and breakfast, Sammy. Two o'clock."

Dean began pulling his gun out of the glove compartment as Sam backed the Impala into one of the spaces in the small and empty parking lot.

"Eyes open Sammy. We don't want anything to get the drop on us." Empty looking towns really never boded well. War had taken over the last one after all.

"I wonder where everyone is." Sam spoke aloud as they walked into the empty lobby. It was a statement meant to make them look less suspicious. If someone or something was around they would sound like regular tourists stopping in, not life long hunters expecting to have to fight for their lives.

They turned quickly, hands twitching toward their guns, when the door across from the front desk creaked opened. A middle aged man stumbled out fumbling with the door as he tried to pull on a wind breaker.

"Oh! Mah…how d'ya do boys?" The man, Francis according to his name tag, said as he quickly shoved on his glasses and shuffled around the service counter. "Mah 'pologies boys. Ah wasn't 'spectin' no cust'mers t'day so's ah was clos'n up tha back to git ready to be go'n to tha chuch meetin."

"That's quite alright sir. Church meeting you say? Is that why we didn't see anyone as we drove into town?" asked Dean.

"Yup. Tha'd be it ah reckon'. Course th' town's not nearly 's full as usual. Smell'a rot drove th' tourists off 'n the first day. Preacher reckon's we done sumthin wrong heah an' God's visitin' a plague on us. So's now we gunna pray fo fo'givness. I cain't think ah anythin' we need fo'givin' for though."

Sam gave a small shrug of acknowledgement.

"Ah'm s'prised you boys came into town. Ah'dah thought anybody headed here'd've turned 'round first chance they had. The orange grove is a disaster 'n now the whole place smells like ah dump."

"Well, we're not exactly tourists," Sam said as he reached in his pocket for his ID.

"Food and Drug Administration." The brothers flashed a pair of fake ID's and credentials at Francis. "I'm Officer Daltrey. This is my partner Officer Townshend. We're investigating a string of unusual crop failures up and down the east coast."

"So it ain't just happ'nin here then? Y'all got any idea 'bout whas goin' on?"

"Not as yet Mr. Francis."

"Huh. Well let me get y'all set up heah befo' I head ova ta tha church." He slipped on a pair narrow glasses and turned to a wall of keys. "Nah you two'll be wanting…ah," he turned back to them and gave a questioning glance from one brother to the other.

"T-two beds, Mr. Francis. Two beds." Sam answered with exasperation.

Dean snickered.

The man nodded and turned abruptly back to the keys.

"Welp, heah ya go. Rum seven. It's jus up them stayahs. Got two twins in it. We only got basic cable tho'."

Dean grabbed the key and picked up his bag. "Thank you Mr. Francis. We'll settle ourselves in. Wouldn't want to keep you from the church meeting."

"Where is the church, Mr. Francis?" asked Sam.

"Ya thinkin' ah joinin' us son? Turn right outta Main, go down three blocks, an' hang a lef. Chuch'll be tha' one full ah cahs."

"Thank you." The brothers gave the man a small nod of acknowledgement as they picked up their bags and headed to the stairs. The screen on the front door slams shut as they reach the second floor landing.

"I guess even the good, God fearing folks of the Bible belt think you're gay Sammy." Dean laughs. It's good that some things don't change, even if it means that half the people they meet think they're boyfriends and not brothers.

"Shut up Dean! They think you're gay, too."

"Yeah, but they only think that because I'm with you. I'm telling you man it's that hair. Stop taking such good care of it."

"Whatever Dean."

"C'mon Sammy. Let's get over to the church and see what people are saying."

* * *

><p>When Mr. Francis said the Church would be full of cars he wasn't kidding. The church's parking lot was a very respectable size, however, it seemed, with the whole town gathered, it could only fit about half cars. The side streets were overflowing. They end up parking two blocks down from the church, and walking in at, what looks like the end of the service, though no one was leaving.<p>

Instead several people were beginning to gather nearer to the pulpit, and asking the minister questions. Others were forming worried, whispering huddles in their seats and in the aisles.

('If y'all need anything you call us, alright?'

'I just don't know what we're gonna do, Vera. That orange crop is all we have, and it's gone.'

'Maddie's coming down with something."

'Tag! You're it!' 'Let's go play red rover.' 'No it smells out there.'

'Father Tompkins! Father Tompkins! My youngest, little Lionel, I think he started getting sick around when the fruit became corrupted. Four days it's been. The doctor said it was just a quick cold, but, please Father, you don't think that whatever is going on has anything to do with this…this plague, do you? )

That last one sparks a bit of interest in the brothers. Is Pestilence attacking people now? It hadn't seemed like it in all of the previous locations, but he could be changing his MO, or speeding up his time table. After all, killing crops, while an effective way of annihilating a population, is not the most expedient, especially if you have the power to wipe everyone out with ebola or some other equally horrifying virus.

Before either brother can try to catch little Lionel's mother and ask about the boy's symptoms the familiar face of Mr. Francis popped into view.

"Offisah Daltrey. Offisah Townshend. C'mere boys. Lemme intraduce ya'll to Father Tompkins."

Mr. Francis, it turned out, was one of those people that just parts a crowd naturally. No "excuse me, pardon me, whoops sorry." He started walking and everybody else moved out of the way. Of course, commanding that kind of presence usually means you're the type of person people know, so Sam and Dean were left to make their own introductions as Mr. Francis was pulled away by a small group of elderly women.

"Father Tompkins," Sam begins, "I'm Officer Townshend. This is my partner, Officer Daltrey. We're fro…"

"The FDA. Yes, yes. Marshall was just telling me about you. Said y'all are here investigatin' the blight? That it might be related to some crop failures up the coast?"

"We believe it might be, Father, yes." Sam says. Sam is usually the one to handle clergy. Dean thinks it's because they can sense what a goody-two-shoes Sam is, so they like him better.

"Any idea what's causing it then?"

"Not yet, Father. We were actually hoping you would answer a few questions for us."

"Of course, agents. Whatever you need."

"Do you think we could move this discussion to a, ah, more private location?" Dean cut in, "Don't want to risk spooking anybody over nothing."

"Sure. Just follow me."

As they make their way through the crowd to the back office the whispered conversations continue. The people look helpless and broken and confused, and Sam thinks that, perhaps, that's why Pestilence has only been killing crops and hasn't unleashed ebola on the population—this suffering is enough for now.

Once in Father Tompkins office they ask the usual barrage of fact finding questions.

_It happened four days ago._

_He doesn't know of any new people in town._

_No one's seen anything suspicious._

The brothers move to leave as it becomes very clear Father Tompkins is not going to be very helpful.

"Officers, you'll keep us informed won't you. We'd love some good news."

"Yes of course. Thank you Father. We'll keep you updated on our progress."

"It's no trouble officers. And thank you."

As the brother's reach the office door, Sam remembered little Lionel.

"Ah, Father? The woman you were speaking to before we arrived…the one with the sick son. Lionel, I think it was."

"Yes, yes. Marcie Templeton. You don't think the blight has anything to do with Lionel do you?"

"No sir. No sir. But it doesn't hurt to check in anyways. The little boy could have gotten into something else. Might reassure her a bit to know it isn't to do with the blight."

"Of course. She lives down on the corner of Cross and Main. The house with all the flamingos."

"We saw it on the way in. Thank you again, Father."

* * *

><p>As it turned out little Lionel, was, A, still little enough to have the tendency to stick whatever was within reach into his mouth (like, say, a dead maggot in the dirt around the kumquat tree in the backyard), and, B, smart enough to know that crying a certain way and saying his tummy still hurt for three days was a great way to get mom's attention away from his older brother and sister.<p>

Still, they now knew that the blight, as it's being called, was not limited to farms—the state of the kumquat tree attested to this. They also knew that, here, as with the other locations, the blight didn't start in one place and spread, so much as it appeared suddenly on Thursday around lunch time, disrupting (by way of flash mob vomiting at the farmer's market and produce section of the WinnDixie) anyone who was eating or around any fresh foods. Since then, the entire town had been on a diet of processed foods with plenty of preservatives in them. It's not a difficult change to make, according to little Lionel's mother. Sam, of course, was horrified by the admission.

Most importantly, though, they heard a rumor about Heaven's Orchard outside of town. The orchard, it turned out was rather ironically named as far as the majority of the town's population were concerned. The Johnstons were known to be heretical, and thought to be hedonists and devil worshipers according to Lionel's mother. The oldest Johnston children, twins Jeremy and Janine, age 17, claimed to be witches.


End file.
